


Derek The Shirtless Sourwolf

by lucyinthesoupwithcroutons



Series: Teen Wolf Christmas [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyinthesoupwithcroutons/pseuds/lucyinthesoupwithcroutons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Eve and Stiles thinks some caroling at the Hale house is in order. Derek doesn't agree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek The Shirtless Sourwolf

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fourteenth day (prompt: Carols) of Teen Wolf Christmas on Tumblr (teenwolf-christmas.tumblr.com). I was also meant to do day five, but got caught up doing other stuff. It may or may not end up posted here later.
> 
> A big massive thank you to Toasted-Ghost (toasted-ghost.tumblr.com) and Pyth (http://archiveofourown.org/users/Peahen) for the beta-ing and the continued boosts to my self esteem,
> 
> Again, I'm fairly certain no warnings are needed on this particular fic, but if there's anything in here I need to tag/warn for that I didn't, please feel free to tell me.

Trudging through the snow with the vague, worried feeling of “I think I’ve seen this tree twice already. Holy shit I’m going to die alone in the woods on Christmas Eve” eating at the back of his mind, Stiles is feeling decidedly less optimistic than when he set out an hour ago. He hadn’t thought of how different everything would look under a thick blanket of snow; how it would make all the natural landmarks he uses to navigate the woods blend together and disappear. He’s uselessly tapping a compass, trying to figure out whether he would have headed east or north east after leaving the main trail, when he stumbles into a large clearing. It’s with an enormous stab of relief that he looks up to see the newly remodelled Hale house standing in front of him.

He knocks the door to be polite, even though he’s expecting no answer, then moves to the living room window to peek in. Sure enough, the house remains quiet and deserted. Suspiciously so. Almost as if a werewolf had just silently dived behind the couch to avoid being seen. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Stiles’ part. Chances are he’s just sitting in another room, trying to set Stiles on fire with his eyes through a few walls.

“I know you’re in there, man! Where else would you be?” He shouts to the house at large. “Everything in town is closed except the police station, the hospital, two Chinese restaurants, and a pizza place. And I know even _your_ werewolf ass is not ridiculous enough to be lurking somewhere in the snow.”

Still no answer.

“Oh, come on. It’s freezing out here!” He shuffles in place, watching his breath freeze in the air. “I can’t feel my toes!”

But no, that’s okay; Stiles anticipated this. He makes sure to knock twice more before reaching under his many layers of clothing and drawing out the dog whistle he’d worn around his neck for the occasion.

No more than five seconds after he brings it to his lips, the door is flying open to reveal Derek in his usual leather jacket and tank top – does the guy have no festive spirit? Who wears black leather on Christmas Eve? – and sporting a pretty impressive scowl. Stiles immediately drops the whistle.

“Stiles, what are you—“

“Greetings! I have come to serenade you because of the holiday season, or whatever!” Then, barely pausing for breath, Stiles launches into a shamelessly loud rendition of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

He can see Derek taking it all in as he sings – the felt reindeer antlers, the Santa hat they’re sticking out of, the honest-to-God _jingle bells_ that are hanging off them and tinkling gently as Stiles moves – and finds himself hoping that the twitching Derek’s jaw seems to be doing is from restraining a smile rather than, you know, restraining the urge to _murder_ him. Though, to his credit, Derek waits until Stiles has finished his first song before wordlessly slamming the door in his face.

That was the one thing Stiles hadn’t been expecting. He’d figured once he’d got the door open and the ice broken with a song, he was pretty much in.

“Hey! Rude! I could freeze to death out here, you know!” He yells indignantly at the closed door. He tries very hard not to laugh when a muffled “Good!” makes its way through the wood.

“I didn’t trek all the way out here in the snow for you to snub me! Get back out here and accept my holiday cheer!”

After a minute or so of knocking, pacing, and (he’s not ashamed to admit) actually kicking the door a few times, he starts to loudly compose his own version of the carol – Derek The Shirtless Sourwolf. It’s pretty good if he does say so himself; especially for a song composed on the spot, mostly out of spite.

He’s three verses in – right in the middle of trying to find a rhyme for “brooding” – when the door flies open and Derek pretty much yells straight in his face.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be right now?!”

Stiles pretends to consider the prospect for a moment before smirking and saying “Nope”, really letting the end of the word pop for emphasis.

“My dad’s working three shifts today so he can be home tomorrow. I can basically keep this up all—Mmmph!” He cuts off abruptly as Derek pulls him roughly into the house by the neck of his hoodie. When he’s finished recovering his balance and bouncing back from the shock, he takes a moment to bask in the fact that he got himself inside in the end.

“See? Accepting guests into your home so they don’t freeze their asses off on your porch; a fine holiday tradition.” He swings his backpack around to the front so he can dig through it, then after a moment of searching pulls a slightly dented biscuit tin out. There’s a squashed Christmas bow on top. He really wishes it looked less pathetic. “Execution needs work, though. You nearly tore my shirt off. Anyway, apart from the gift of music – which you have yet to show the proper appreciation for, I might add – I brought you these too.”

Derek’s mouth is hanging open slightly.

“I, uh, figured I’d wait until I was inside to hand them over.” Stiles continues, opening the lid to reveal some very obviously home-made cookies. They’re in what’s supposed to be the shape of a Christmas tree, but spread enough during cooking that they’re more like very small, mostly green, works of abstract cookie art. He’s very aware of the fact that Derek’s jaw is twitching again. He looks between Stiles and the cookies like he’s not sure if either of them is actually for real; almost like he’s suspicious that it’s some kind of trap.

“They’re not poison, you know. I made them this morning.” Still no response. “I was supposed to have them done last night, but I burnt the hell out of that batch and...”

He trails off, realising discussing things burning with Derek may not be the best way to get him in the festive spirit.

“Well, anyway, I’m not the world’s greatest cook or anything, but I tried one and they taste better than they look.” His free hand comes up to the back of his neck, rubbing nervously. He just wishes Derek would take the damn tin off him already.

“Why are you doing this?” Derek demands.

“Uh, because it’s Christmas and everyone loves cookies?” Stiles tries.

Silence. Possibly a raised eyebrow; he’s trying not to meet Derek’s eyes, so it’s hard to tell.

“I had some new cookie cutters and wanted to try them out?”

“Stiles.”

“Ugh, fine. Go ahead and question the integrity of my thoughtful holiday surprise. See if I bake you anything ever again.”

And really? That consternated little frown that Derek’s sporting should be outlawed. It’s the day before Christmas and nobody is allowed be that sour. After a moment’s hesitation, Stiles decides to throw him a bone and give him the whole truth.

“And, ok, maybe I figured out from the rest of the pack’s plans that you’d be alone today and hey, I was gonna be alone too. So, I figured maybe we could be alone together. Or something, I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d be this difficult about it.” Derek still isn’t saying anything. His frown has changed in tone in a way Stiles can’t quite parse, but he’s pretty sure it’s a good thing. “Or, well, yeah, that’s a lie. But I figured the sugary treats would ease the way a bit. Look, would you just stop frowning and eat a cookie and maybe we could put on a movie? Get some pizza?”

The frown deepens momentarily and Stiles worries for a brief moment that he’s about to be tossed out on his ass, but Derek simply says “I only have two DVDs and if you put anchovies on that pizza, I’ll give you to Jackson for Christmas to use as a scratching post.”

Then he walks into the living room, clearly just expecting Stiles to follow. After a brief moment of shock, Stiles pauses to perform a quick, silent fist-pump of victory before following him.

“Hey, I figured you’d have a pretty crappy selection – no offense – so I brought some good old festive favourites!” He makes himself at home, plopping down onto the couch beside Derek and perching the spare Santa hat he’d brought on his head. To his surprise, it isn’t immediately ripped off and hurled to the ground. ”I have like 20 different movies in here, but we should probably start with a holiday staple. So, you want The Grinch, Love Actually, or It’s A Wonderful Life?”

“Stiles.”

“Alright, fine. I also brought Gremlins.” He says, rolling his eyes and grinning.

For the first time since he opened the door today, Derek actually smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! =]
> 
> By the way, not that I'm expecting any, but my policy on fan-art is: "YES PLEASE, I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER. PLEASE SHOW IT TO ME WHEN YOU'RE DONE SO I CAN BASK IN ITS GLORY." Just so everyone knows.
> 
> Also if you want to message/follow me on Tumblr my url is lucy-in-the-soup-with-croutons.tumblr.com


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